ings, flew to a tree and began to call.

To be a crow mamma is no sinecure. My heart went out to the poor souls
who must be torn between anxiety for their dear "cantankerous"
offspring, and fear of their deadly enemy, man. I watched with deep
interest their method of training. One day I saw a baby get an object
lesson in his proper attitude toward mankind, in this way. An old and a
young crow were nearer the house than usual, and I walked down toward
the fence to see why. The instant my head appeared, the elder flew with
terrific outcry, for which of course I did not blame the poor creature,
since mankind has proved itself her bitterest foe. The infant was nearly
frightened to death, and followed as quickly as his awkward wings would
carry him. I do not like to figure as "Rawhead and bloody-bones" in the
nursery of even a crow baby, so I tried several times to redeem the bad
name of my race. But to no avail; that subtle mamma had acquired her
wisdom by experience, and she knew me as one of a species quite capable
of murdering an innocent crow baby.

I was interested to see the young family in the pasture taking lessons
in following, or flying in a flock. There was great excitement and
calling, and all flew, excepting one, who stood quietly on a big stone
by himself. They simply circled around and alighted again, so it plainly
was only an exercise. But the baby who did not learn the lesson and
follow, was punished by one of the grown-ups, who flew directly against
him on the return, and knocked him off his perch; the hint was taken,
and the next time they flew no one stayed behind.

Day by day the excitement in the crow world grew, and new families
appeared in the pasture as fast as old ones got out. The rails of the
fence were always occupied by young ones--though never more than five or
six at a time--crying and shrieking and calling for "Ma-a!" and old ones
all the time flying about half distracted, cawing and trying, I suppose,
to enforce some order and discipline among the unruly rogues. Order,
however, was quite a secondary consideration; the pressing duty of the
hour was feeding. A crow parent on a foraging expedition is a most
unwelcome visitor to the farmer with young chickens, or the bird-lover
interested in the fate of nestlings. Yet when I saw the persecuted
creature in the character of provider for four hungry and ever clamorous
mouths, to whose wants she is as alive as we are to the wants of our
babies, I